Superlock One Shots
by whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp
Summary: A series of one shot crossover fics between Sherlock and Supernatural. I'm just experimenting and having fun really. Knowledge of spn not essential, but it would probably help you to understand and heighten your enjoyment : ) Not intended to be slash but I ship johnlock and destiel so who knows what could happen! T for violence and swears. Please review
1. Chapter 1

**Deals**

**Summary: **Post-reichenbach, John will do anything to get Sherlock back, even something he never knew existed...

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Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since he'd stood on that roof top. Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since he'd jumped. Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since my heart shattered as though it too had fallen from such a height.  
I tried to get over it, I really did. I didn't want to be moping around the flat, treasuring everything he ever laid a finger on, refusing to have everything packed away for good; but that what happened.  
I moved back into my old flat, it wasn't easy and I didn't want to but I couldn't stay at 221B, that was our home, and we had become I. Mrs Hudson was the one who boxed it all up, she took it to a school I think, I didn't ask. I kept a few things through - the periodic table, the camera phone (even though it was a painful reminder of my failure to express my feelings before it was too late), even the hat. I couldn't decide what hurt more, keeping them or throwing them away; keeping things seemed illogical (that's what he'd say anyway) but I couldn't bring myself to discard all those memories.

In the first few months, I'd been desperate, in denial. I wouldn't believe it, I'd keep telling myself he'd walk back through the door and lecture me on the stupidity of my sentiment. He couldn't be dead. But he was.. is.  
I'd even taken to looking up stupid myths about ghosts and spirits and people coming back from the dead. I knew it wasn't healthy, I knew it was ridiculous and implausible, but I did it anyway. It was mostly the same stuff, endless videos of 'ghost proof', dumb teenagers hunting 'spirits', miracle stories, it was a load of shit and I knew it. But one day I found something new: demons.  
The idea, to me, that demons and devils and hell were real seemed even stupider than the rest of it, but some of it really did seem interesting, one sight I found seemed scarily legit. It was about deals. Apparently, an awful lot of switching and swapping went on downstairs, and it seemed rather simple. This suggestion that souls could be traded and signed away scared the living crap out of me, but after weeks of tossing and turning and a severe lack of sleep, I came to a conclusion. What options did I have left?

I left early morning, having booked a hire car the night before - I couldn't take a taxi for this. The back was loaded with everything I'd read about - candles, chalk and paint, salt, a crucifix in a bottle of water - plus my gun. I was still convinced it wouldn't work, it couldn't. But I had to try.

It took all day; it was well past darkness when I finally reached it. A small, desolate gravel cross roads. This was it.  
The late summer days had been hot this year but the lack of clouds meant as soon as the sun retreated the temperature dropped dramatically. The cold night air clung close and clammy against my skin, empty stars seemed to mock my pathetic last attempt. The gravel crunched underfoot and the wind whistled hauntingly in the few barren trees. Haunting... It couldn't be true and I hated myself for being desperate enough to try. Shivering, I pulled my jacket closer and started work. I'd read that a Crossroads Demon is typically summoned by burying a container of ritual items, including a photograph of the summon-er, graveyard dirt, a black cat bone, and yarrow at the centre of a crossroads. Yep, I'd even managed to find a cat bone, i was that desperate (if you really want to know I went to the vets and hung around like a creep waiting for a dead cat. Yeah, really...) not to mention walking awkwardly into the local cemetery (I took the dirt from his grave as I figured it would go unnoticed and he wouldn't have cared anyway, plus it held some idiotic sentimental value). Feeling more and more stupid with every moment, I scooped a handful of gravel into the box, dug a shallow hole, covered it, and waited.  
Nothing.  
It was all stupid, just a bloody stupid internet fad id been an idiot to take seriously, how could I have been this desperate?! This ignorant?! I should just go right now before...

"Good evening John," a soft female voice came from behind me and I wheeled round, tense and holding up the only weapon I had, the gun. She was, quite honestly, beautiful. A smooth, reflective black dress clung to her tanned and unblemished skin from her shoulders to just above her knees. Shiny hair the colour of a raven cascaded in curls and ringlets down her exposed back; it reminded me of his, for god's sake everything reminded me off him. Her eyes were a deep hazel, almost charcoal, but I thought I saw a flash of scarlet as she whispered "That won't do you any good," and took a graceful step closer.  
"Who the hell are you?"  
She smiled mockingly, "I thought you'd at least have done your research, I am here to help you after all."  
"Research, what..?" my mouth was dry, the adrenaline pumping round my body was different to any id felt before because this couldn't be real, in a minute I would wake up and it would all be back to normal.  
She rolled her eyes, "I'm a demon, John. I'm the cross roads demon."  
She was lying, she had to be... The gun was steady in my hands but I could feel my legs trembling slightly.  
"A demon?"  
"Yes. I'm the one who seals the deals," she grinned almost sheepishly, holding her palms outwards as if expecting laughter and applause.  
"So, the deals. They're real? You can, you can do that?"  
"No need to beat about the bush sweetie, I know why you're here."  
"You do?"  
"Of course," she said, twirling a lock of hair seductively, "you're here to make a deal for Sherlock Holmes."  
It sounded totally ridiculous now she'd said it; the whole thing was totally ridiculous. Demons, hell, Lucifer, deals? I still couldn't quite believe it.  
And yet here she was, offering me a chance to have my best friend back. And here I was over thinking and wasting time.  
"Yes," I breathed after a moment.  
"Oh John, John, I wish I could help you, I really do. And believe me, there are people downstairs who would kill for your soul, well, they kill anyway so that's not really a fair statement. And I really wouldn't mind kissing you at all... But I can't."  
"Why?!" I almost shouted, raising the gun "I thought you could make a deal with anyone?! Didn't you just say people, uh, wanted my soul?"  
"Oh we do, believe me," she reached out a cold hand and lowered the barrel slowly, "But you see, I can't make a deal for Sherlock Holmes, because I don't have his soul to swap for yours."  
"What... what do you..."  
"Sherlock Holmes is not dead."

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**Wow, drama! This is my first cross over fic so please tell me what you think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Angels?! – P1: Visitors **

I've always thought that there was something about him, maybe it's just looking back now that I know, but I have always thought he looked almost... well, angelic.  
The pale, almost white, skin that was soft to touch and flushed a little whenever I entered the room. The Cupids bow lips in their delicate shade of pink. The eyes, the bloody eyes. Deep ocean that could pierce into your very soul; a weak and watery sky blue that could make my heart melt at the most inconvenient of times; the odd sheen of green like a tropical plant that appeared every so often and that I treasured every time; random flecks of gold and a rim of thunderstorm grey made up the final finishing touches, as if god had said 'oh, go on then, have a bit more perfection'. Then there was the way he walked, graceful and smooth. The voice, low and smooth and silky and slightly husky when he'd been at the smokes. Then there was the way he always knew what you were thinking, the way he knew nothing about social expectations, how he would often appear so suddenly it was as if he'd popped out of thin air.  
But I wasn't suspicious. Yet.

It had been raining since three in the morning and I was soaked through. Even just sprinting from the cab to the front door was enough to plaster my hair and cloths to my icy skin. Fingers fumbling, I unlocked the door of 221B, climbed the stairs – carton of milk in hand - and entered out flat.

I expected to see him alone, as always, composing or thinking or experimenting or lying still with a nicotine patch (or three), I certainly didn't expect there to be another man and a red-haired women standing around him.  
"Sherlock..?" I asked tentatively, setting the milk in a rare free space on the kitchen table, "what's going on..?"  
He turned towards me, lines of intense pain and worry on his usually blemish free face. The others acted as though I wasn't even in the room; the man, an African American in a tailored black suit, said calmly "Sherlock would you mind ever so if we could continue to talk alone?"  
Sherlock nodded curtly and looked toward me again, "John I need you to wait upstairs."  
"What? Why? Who are they?" I shot indignantly. I wasn't leaving him alone with these strange and threatening people.  
"John this is important..."  
But I pushed past him, shooting a question at his visitors, "who are you?"  
"That is none of your concern."  
"Oh I think it is!"  
"Fine," he sighed, "my name is Uriel, this is Anna."  
"Alright, why are you here?"  
Uriel didn't answer me, he took a step forward and addressed Sherlock, "you know why we're here."  
"Of course." He replied.  
"And will you come with us?"  
"Why should I? I have done nothing."  
At this Anna hissed, all three of us turned to look at her, "you know perfectly well what you did," she spat, "you're getting too close to them, of you're not careful you'll go the same way as Castiel."  
What? What the hell was she on about, who were 'they', who was Castiel?  
"Close?" Sherlock laughed, "Anna they're pathetic and weak and only one of them talks to me."  
Uriel chuckled, "he used to say that too, but it all changed. You only need one of them to bring you down. Castiel was the same, all it took was one righteous man and he fell like a, well, like an angel from heaven."  
"You're coming with us, you don't have a choice." Anna said simply.  
"Hang on," I piped up, "where are you taking him? What the hell is going on!"  
"Heaven." Anna stated again in her cold and emotionless voice.  
What?! Were they going to..?!  
My protective battle instincts kicked in and I stepped between the intruders and my friend, putting my arms out behind me in an attempt to shield Sherlock from view.  
"If you want to kill him you'll have to kill me too."  
"Oh hell," Uriel muttered, "Sherlock please, could you get rid of him for one tiny second?"  
"John," his familiar and comforting hand took my wrist and he pulled me round to face him.  
"What do they want with...?"  
"I need you to go somewhere safe," he spoke at a normal volume, then it suddenly dropped and he whispered "bathroom."  
Confused and angry, I opened my mouth to argue but he pushed me away from him and through the bathroom door. Wait, how was I suddenly in the bathroom? He couldn't have pushed me all the way down the hall, could he?  
Their voices lowered so I had to press my ear up against the key hole; I still couldn't hear a word though, it didn't even sound like English.  
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out; Sherlock. He'd sent an image, a strange sigil that made devil worship jump to mind and a simple message:  
_  
__In human blood__  
__SH_

What the hell?! Did he want me to cut myself and draw some creepy sign in my blood? What the hell for?! How was he even texting me, it had looked like a pretty intense discussion. Furious and frustrated, I shoved the door to open it. But it didn't open.  
"Sherlock!" I shouted through the wood, "have you locked me in here?!" I was livid, we usually told each other everything, now no explanation offered and imprisonment!  
My mobile went off again and I wrenched it out, fuming.

_It'll save us both. Trust me.__  
__SH_

'Save us both', what did that mean? So these people where dangerous, if they were in fact people... and how was a simple sigil going to help?  
It took me only a second to decide; if trusted Sherlock with my life before, I could trust him with a small amount of blood.

I hadn't cut myself since I was 15, but that was for a totally different reason. It hurt, but only a bit - if Sherlock and I were in danger I could spare a little blood. The red started to bloom from my finger tip and I pressed it to the bathroom wall, drawing a circle, small triangle and an assortment of odd symbols.

_Done, what's going on Sherlock?__  
__JW_

I knew he want going to answer, I was surprised he could even use his phone in their presence.

_Put your cut hand on it__  
__SH_

Why? Another message came, apparently as an afterthought

_And close your eyes_

What? I was still utterly convinced this was pointless and I had no idea what he was on about; but my heart was hammering, Uriel and Anna had really seemed not to messed with.

_Now_

Taking a deep breath, I screwed up my eyes and pressed my bleeding fingertip to the wall.

Bright white light burst into the room, poking harshly through the gaps in the door frame. I saw red through my eyelids, the light was blinding.  
And a noise, a ringing, a single note at supersonic pitch. I gasped in pain, stuffing my fingers into my ears. God it was loud.  
Then the window shattered. Glass flew in all directions, I wandered if it was a bomb, this had happened in Afghanistan. But I dismissed the idea as the noise grew even louder, there was no way this was natural. Supernatural, but it couldn't be! I remembered what Anna had said about taking Sherlock to heaven, maybe she... No, she couldn't be… an angel..? No...  
A shard of the mirror slashed across my forehead and I cried out, burying my head in my arms and curling into a protective ball.  
The light was still getting brighter, the noise even louder. It felt like my eyes were on fire, my ear drums rupturing. I screwed my eyes up even tighter.  
Shit.  
I was going to die.  
Please god, let me live. It wasn't the first time I'd made that request, maybe this time I wouldn't be so lucky.  
'I'm going to die' the words pounded through my head as the glass and the noise and the light tore through the room. 'I'm going to die'.

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**part two coming soon! I hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but what can i say, i'm an evil shit :) **

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	3. Chapter 3

**On the Side of the Angels – P2: Wings**

Blackness. Blackness and nothingness and the deafening silence. 'I am dead?' I asked myself, No, I couldn't be... That was the bathroom tiles under me, I could feel the smashed glass. So I was alive?  
And then I remembered; the people, the sign, the blood, the noise, the light… Sherlock.  
I tried to stand, but slip on the wet tiles, wet with my blood and water from a burst pipe. After three attempts I made it upright and surveyed the damage around me.  
The room was like a bomb site - literally. Smashed glass and piping litters the floor, water and blood mixed and swirled over tiles, the window and mirror were completely gone, leaving only empty frames. The only thing that didn't look damaged was the sigil.  
Oh god, what if the rest of the flat was like this?  
"Sherlock!" I scrambled over the mess and hit on the door. "Sherlock open the bathroom door!" no response. Shit, was he alright?  
"Sherlock!"  
Nothing for it. It took me three attempts but I shoulder barged the door down and stepped into the hall. Calling his name I made my way down and into the living room. This is where he was, along with Anna and Uriel. But there was no one there.  
What the hell was going on?! Is he dead? No. I won't accept that. Where the hell did they go, he said it would save us both...  
"Sherlock?!" I shouted again, my voice rising in desperation.  
Silence. Now I started to panic, my eyes welled up but I rubbed them fiercely. Soldiers don't cry; I've done this before, I can do it again. No, I can't. I can't watch another friend die, not now, not him.

But then a familiar low voice came from right behind me, so close I could almost feel his breath, "hello John."  
I whipped round, too relieved to reprimand him about personal space, throwing myself into his arms and clinging on for dear life. It was a full minute before I let go, pushed him away from me by the shoulders and almost shouting "what the hell Sherlock!?"  
He doesn't break his stare, just takes a breath and mummers "I suppose I owe you an explanation."  
"Too fucking right you do! Some people show up trying to kidnap you or something, you lock me in the bathroom and tell me to draw some devil sign in my own blood, then there's some light I thought was going to set my eyes on fire and the bloody noise! Then when I come looking or you, you and your crazy palls are gone and I'm thinking you're dead and then you literally pop out of nowhere?! What the hell is this about?!"  
He didn't answer for what seems like an eternity, just gazing into my eyes with a troubled look. Then he took another breath as if preparing himself for the worst. "I'm an angel of the lord."  
"You.. You're... You're what?" I stammered, sure that I'd heard wrong. "You're... you're saying you're an, an angel?" he couldn't be... My mind was racing, trying to process the information.  
He nodded.  
"Oh god you relapsed didn't you?" I asked, suddenly angry, "what was it? Dope? Or something stronger?"  
"I'm not intoxicated."  
"Oh sure, you're a sober angel."  
"I can prove it." he said quietly. And vanished.  
My head snapped up, spinning round in urgency. How could he..?! What, was it all true? It couldn't be!  
"Sherlock!?"  
With a noise that sounded strangely like the flapping of feathers, he was in front of me again. "So, so it's true?" I whispered, stunned.  
He nodded again.  
"So Anna and Uriel, they're... They're angels too?"  
"Yes."  
"So when she said he wanted to take you to heaven...?"  
"Yes she meant _the_ heaven."  
"Why?"  
He gestured to my normal chair and sank into his own. I sat.  
"Anna and Uriel are worried that I'm going to rebel, become disobedient, fall."  
"Why?"  
He gave me a 'stop interrupting' look and answered "I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You."  
"Like Castiel?"  
"Castiel was in charge of the Winchesters, he fell last year. Uriel and Anna wanted to take me back to make sure that the same wouldn't happen to me."  
I thought I was beginning to understand, "Did they want to kill you?"  
"Yes."  
"And, and," I looked around hurriedly, cricking my neck, "they're gone now? Are you safe?"  
"I am," and with that he leaned forward in his chair and pressed one palm flat against my chest. I didn't have time to ask what he was doing or protest, not that I would have wanted to. I could feel my heart rate increasing as it always did on physical contact, no I definitely wasn't going to stop hi…  
"Ow!" a sudden searing pain shot through my torso; deep, I felt it right on my ribs. "What was that?!"  
"Ancient Enocian protection," he sat back down, even now as I clutched my chest in pain, I didn't want him to let go. "I carved it into your ribs."  
"You did what?!"  
"Now you're protected from them, you're hidden from every angel in existence."  
Still rubbing my chest, I asked "is that what the thing you asked me to draw was?"  
"Angel banishing sigil," he answered matter-of-fact-ly, "that's why I wasn't here when you came conscience."  
"In human blood?"  
Sherlock shrugged, "or angel."  
I laughed slightly, shaking my head.  
"What?"  
"Just, I still can't believe that you're an angel."  
"I just proved it didn't I?"  
"Yes but, that's not the kind of thing one usually springs on a person." Pause. "do you, uh, have you got, like, wings?"  
He smirked, "obviously. John this isn't my true form, my real form is as tall as the Chrysler building and would blind you permanently."  
I couldn't help but feel slightly down hearted at this, so Sherlock wasn't actually in his real form, and I could never see it. Hang on, what was he now if not his true self?  
"So, what's, what's this then?" I gestured weakly at him.  
"This?" he placed his hands on hips as if seeing himself for the first time, "this is a vessel."  
"A what? You mean that's someone else's body?"  
"Yes."  
Well, now it was awkward. I felt betrayed, knowing that he wasn't the man I'd thought he was. It meant I'd been fantasying about a stranger and that was even odder than what I'd thought it was…  
He seemed to sense my discomfort and reached across the seemingly massive space between us to take my hand. I looked up at him, eyes widening in shock and he grinned; his infuriatingly adorable little sideways grin. "John, I'm still the same person, well, I'm not human, but I'm the same. I was like this when we met, and I'm going to say this way. Just because it's not my body doesn't mean it's not me."  
He's right, of course he is. It might be just a 'vessel', but it's still him inside, it's still the same person I fell for as soon as he borrowed my phone.  
I smiled to show that I understood. Sherlock still hand my fingers encased in his, I wasn't used to this. This was what I'd wanted, longed for, but it was different. Never in a million years had I dreamed it would happen like this.  
"So, I'll never get to see you, the real you?"  
He shook his head, then looked up at me again, eyes sparkling with typical Sherlock-y excitement that I usually associated with a serial killing.  
"Wait."

He almost leapt up - I don't think I've ever seen him that excited – and ran to the doorway. With one flick of his pale violinist's finger, he plunged the room into darkness.  
"Sherlock, what..?" I began, but he 'shh'ed me and clambered up onto the back of his chair.  
"Put the lamp on."  
"What?"  
"The lamp John, you said you wanted to see."  
Bemused, I reached across to press the switch.

And now I know what he wanted me to see. As well as his regular lanky shadow on the hideously papered wall there were two others. Two black shapes extending out either side of his upper back; they were huge, stretching all the way to the edges of the room. Wings. Even in shadow I could make out small details, the feathering and texture. I felt a strong desire to touch, but I doubted I could.  
He was smiling widely, looking like a kid who was proud of a good report.  
"Wow," I breathed, standing up. I crossed the metre of carpet between our seats and gazed up in awe. "Pretty impressive."  
He smiled his lopsided smile that I knew was reserved only for me, "much more so in the flesh, well, I mean in true form. Really the vessel is 'the flesh'."  
I knew it probably wouldn't do anything, mean anything, achieve anything, but I couldn't help reaching up a hand to touch the shadow.  
"You said Uriel reckons you were 'getting to close' to me."  
"I did."  
"Do you agree with him?"  
After a slight pause Sherlock hopped down off the chair – I noticed the shadows of his wings (god that sounded weird, his wings) folding gently, and this time heard the ruffle of feathers clearly. Once he was on ground level again, he was stupidly close to me, his, frankly angelic, face inches from mine.  
"I wouldn't say _too_ close…" he murmured, taking my wrists in his cold hands. As he drew even closer I felt a flutter in the air next to me, it was still strange, still new; then again, so was him being to so close, too close. My heart was going crazy, I smiled to myself, wings aren't the only thing aflutter.

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**There will be more superlock on the way, but reviewing will quicken the process :) hopefully Team Free Will will feature soon too **


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